The parks are all much duller now
the children have gone home.
No little shrieks to spike the peaks
of every skybound swing.
No swipe of vibrant colour from
the roundabout's slow spin.
Instead the frames of metal poles
lay dormant under coats of paint
so thick and black that even
crows can hardly dare to perch.
Outside the old dogs eye us both.
Their long stares soaked
with yearning
for the real wilderness.

Forgive me, but I don't
want to explore my feelings,
backpack through insecurity
or interrail across buried pain.
There is no pride to be found
in travelling to those places
or even in a triumphant return.
Instead, I'll make my feelings
comfortable by giving them
a seat inside a steady room,
beside a window with a view

What will we learn
from our reflected
selves? Movement,
  reversed. Light,
changed course.
The truths we hide,
but secretly know
(deep down inside).
Each little smear
distracts. Illusions
are a fragile gift
that's best
kept wrapped.

Before important business
can start, there's a general
sniffing of the night; a stale
nose of fireworks, perhaps
the evening star? The moon
adds a drop of essence,
beyond the too damp wet
piles of autumn leaves. We
walk, stopping frequently to
sample other joys; a scent
of fox, a whiff of squirrel.
Inside the wine shop I am
greeted by an offer of tasting.
Good boy. Sit. Strong tannins.
rich summer fruit lingers after.
Honey. Figs. Redcurrants.

Bequeath your final skin to dust.
Watch the ferrous atoms gather
as the rusted cosmos rots.
Feel the cogs still turning,
churning seasons to a pulp.
Hear the solemn promise
autumn whispers in the dusk;
I am just an echo of the darkest
night of all. Will our children's
children still believe our great
great selves? Will Old Mother
Hubbard leave her own bones
upon the shelves? Will Old Father
Time's paternity outlive all our
foolish fears? When the edge
of you is nowhere and the end
of you has come, then you'll
understand that living was
a fraction of the whole.

Sometimes,
  when I'm walking my dog,
    I pretend
      I'm flying
       an upside down
       kite.
The kite pulls me.
  The kite gets stuck in a tree.
    I pull the kite.
The kite gets tangled
  with another kite.
The kite stops;
  scared of shadows?
Eventually, I find an open space
  and I set the kite
                                     free.

We're living the lives we led before.
Always rushing, perhaps, even, a bit

more grumpy on the wet mornings.
You said you missed our lockdown

lives. Simpler, you said. I'm not sure.
I can't compare how I felt, just what

we did. Most of the uncertainty we
shared has gone again. Our old fears,

less relevant now and our new fears
still not fully formed.